


The Night Is My Companion

by darkly_ironic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: hc_bingo, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hallucifer, Hallucinations, Hurt Sam Winchester, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2012-12-22
Packaged: 2017-11-22 01:19:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/604238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkly_ironic/pseuds/darkly_ironic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Refusing Lucifer was never easy, but now that Sam's alone, it's almost impossible. Set after 7.06 "Slash Fiction."<br/><b>Warnings:</b> dubious consent</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Night Is My Companion

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my hc_bingo square "dub-con.” I'm not going to lie, I've been a little nervous about this one. I finally decided that I'm close enough to the deadline that I just needed to post it and stop fidgeting about it. So, here goes...

It takes Sam three days to get far enough away from Iowa and Dean that he feels like he can stop running. He’s been careful and lucky, and no one’s recognized him, and apart from a couple of strange looks, he’s been mostly ignored. Ignored by real people at least. The one in his head is a different matter.  
  
“Not sure about these digs, Sammy,” Lucifer says. He’s standing in the center of Sam’s new motel room, hands clasped behind his back, glancing around with an air of complete disinterest.  
  
Sam flicks on the light switch and locks the door behind him. Lucifer’s right; the room’s a dump, but it’s also the kind of place that’s not going to be particularly interested if someone who happens to look a lot like an infamous serial killer happens to check in. It’ll have to do, and anyway, it’s not like Sam hasn’t stayed in worse.  
  
“Oh dear,” Lucifer goes on, “there’s only one bed and two of us. Thinking you’ll get lucky tonight, bunk buddy?”  
  
Sam brushes past him, careful that they don’t actually touch, and drops his bag on the bed. His hand goes to the healing scar on his palm, an almost instinctual gesture now, and digs his thumb into it, nail biting into his flesh. His back is turned to where Lucifer was standing, but he can feel him disappear. It’s like the ugly motel room has suddenly become a little brighter.  
  
It’s unlikely that Sam’s going to get any sleep and he knows it. Still, he goes through the motions, brushing his teeth, changing into nightclothes, and getting under the sheets. Then he lies awake, staring at the patterns of light on the ceiling.  
  
Sam never used to have trouble sleeping in motel rooms, no more than anywhere else, at least, but now the sounds and smells are strange and unfamiliar, twisted into something dark and savage. The woman next door’s playful shriek is his little brother being torn apart. The car backfiring on the highway is the crack of breaking bone. The faintly smoky odor of the sheets is his flesh smoldering. Above all, in spite of all the normal nighttime noises of a motel, it’s too quiet. The one sound, the one presence that’s always been a constant, is gone, and Sam’s not sure he knows how to adjust.  
  
“Do you want me to pretend?” Lucifer says in the darkness. There’s the space of a breath, then the room fills with the soft, low rumble of Dean’s snores. If Sam closes his eyes, he can imagine that his brother’s there, asleep on the non-existent other bed, and somehow that just makes the pain of Dean’s betrayal worse.  
  
“Stop it,” Sam hisses, his voice too loud in his own ears. “Please.”  
  
The soft breaths and snores vanish.  
  
“No, maybe it’s not a brother that you want, is it Sam?” Lucifer sounds closer now, his voice coming from somewhere in the darkness behind Sam. “Maybe it’s something else…”  
  
The bed dips as Lucifer slides on to bed. His breath ghosts unnaturally cold against the back of Sam’s neck, and he shivers.  
  
“I want you to go away,” Sam says, and whishes his voice didn’t sound so weak.  
  
Lucifer laughs softly, pressing himself in tightly behind Sam, in some mocking gesture of cuddling. One hand plays with Sam’s hair, then trails down over his pecs to rest over Sam’s heart. Sam freezes.  
  
“Come on, Sam, tell me you don’t want this.”  
  
“I  _don’t_.”  
  
The bed squeaks as Lucifer props himself up on one elbow. He leans down until his lips brush Sam’s ear. “ _Liar_.” He nips at Sam’s ear, then works his way down Sam’s neck lips unerringly finding each on of Sam’s sensitive pressure points, sucking and biting at the skin.  
  
Sam closes his eyes, fingers twisting in the sheets. He hasn’t forgotten how Lucifer likes to mark him,  _claim_ him. Inside, Sam’s screaming that he needs to move, to get away from Lucifer’s touch, but his body stays stubbornly where it is. Sam can no more escape here than when he was in the Cage. Lucifer’s in his head, and he’s not letting Sam go.  
  
“See, Sam?” Lucifer whispers. “I’ve got you.”  
  
“Please.” It comes out broken and ragged, and Sam’s not even sure what he’s asking for.  
  
“Give me this,” the Devil says, “and I’ll make sure you actually sleep tonight. How does that sound, Sammy? No nightmares, no lying awake all night, just a long restful night and dreams of puppies and rainbows?”  
  
It’s tempting. It’s so, so tempting, and giving in to Lucifer is something that had grown familiar to him in the Cage. It would be easy to fall into that here—Lucifer takes and takes, and Sam gives him whatever he wants because it’s the only thing that’ll stop the pain. How is this really so different?  
  
Sam doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move, and in answer he can feel Lucifer smiling against his skin.  
  
“Good choice,” Lucifer breathes. “I knew you could never say no to me.”  
  
The hand on Sam’s chest slides lower, resting icy-cold on the sharp angle of his hipbone. Sam’s breath catches as it dips under the waistband of his shorts, catching the elastic and dragging them down.  
  
There’s a dull burn when Lucifer pushes inside of him, greedy and too-fast, but it doesn’t really hurt. Sam feels like it should. It should have all the pain of Lucifer’s most imaginative torments in the Cage, because if it did, it would feel a little less like something Sam might almost want, something that’s dangerously close to tender   
  
Lucifer’s whispering in Sam’s ear, a soft litany of English and Enochian that he can almost understand. It’s familiar, almost comforting, and he pushes back against Lucifer before he realizes what he’s doing, and after that, well, he’s already damned, isn’t he? It’s not like anyone’s going to know.  
  
Lucifer keeps his word. Sam sleeps better that night then he has in weeks.  
  
He doesn’t check out immediately the next morning. So far, there aren’t any cops breaking down the door, and as much as running feels like the best plan right now, logically he knows that that’s not going to get him anywhere. He needs to take a few days, regroup, maybe even find a job. At least a hunt would take his mind off Dean.  
  
He’s eating breakfast when his phone rings. Sam eyes it warily. He’s had a few calls from Dean, but he’s ignored them. This time though, it’s Bobby, and it’s not like Bobby’s done anything to deserve Sam giving him the cold shoulder. Just before it’s about to go to voicemail, Sam grabs it off the table.  
  
“Hey Bobby.”  
  
“You tell me straight, boy, what the Hell are you playing at?”  
  
Sam swallows hard. “Dean’s talked to you?”  
  
“Damn right he has.”  
  
“Look I don’t know what he’s told you.” Sam pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off the pressure headache that’s starting to form behind his left eye. “But we both agreed it would best if we just…took a little time away from each other.”  
  
“And where are you now?” Bobby still sounds gruffer than usual, but his voice has lost most of its anger.  
  
“Somewhere in Montana.” Sam suddenly realizes he doesn’t actually know the name of the town. He’d been more tired than he’d thought when he’d arrived. “I’m in a motel.”  
  
“And you’re safe?”  
  
“Yeah.” Sam shivers as the air around him is suddenly a few degrees cooler. Lucifer’s back. “Yeah, I’m fine.” His voice cracks a little on _fine_  as Lucifer slips an arm around his waist and leans onto Sam’s back, his forked tongue tracing along the vertebrae of his neck.  
  
Of course Bobby catches it. “And how’s your little problem?”  
  
Sam closes his eyes for a second, trying to find the right words. It’s hard with Lucifer pressed up against him, a sharp reminder of just how far he’d slipped last night. “Uh, about the same. I’m coping.”  
  
Lucifer laughs softly in his ear. “Really, Sammy?”  
  
Sam ignores him.  
  
Bobby sighs, a long rush of static. “Look, Sam, I know you’ve got this thing going on where you feel like you gotta deal with it on your own. I get that, I do, but it doesn’t mean it’s got to be that way.”  
  
Sam hesitates. The last thing he wants is for Bobby to know just how bad it is, but at the same time, it’s felt like he’s drowning ever since his Wall came down, and Bobby’s the guy in the lifeboat throwing him a rope.  
  
“I can’t say no to him.” It comes out in a rush before Sam’s brain has even caught up with his mouth. “It’s nothing serious, not world-ending serious, and I know he’s a hallucination, but he feels so  _real_.”  
  
There’s a long pause from Bobby’s end, and for a long, painful moment Sam’s sure that he’s just made a terrible mistake.  
  
“Sam, you can’t let him do that to you,” Bobby says finally, his voice gentle, but firm. “You said no to him for a whole year, and that was with Heaven and Hell both pullin’ at your strings. You took back control when we thought it was all done for. You’re  _stronger_  than he is.”  
  
 _Yeah, it’s not that simple_ , Sam wants to say, but he bites it back.  
  
Bobby doesn’t seem perturbed by his silence. “Look, kid, I know you got it rough, and God knows I’d give anything for a way to help you, but all I’m sure of is that you can’t let that bastard win. You’ve gotta keep fighting until we find how to stop this."  
  
“Aw, listen to him get all emotional,” Lucifer says softly. “He  _cares_  about you. How cute.”  
  
Sam closes his eyes again, this time to try and drown out the Devil. “I don’t know how,” he tells Bobby, voice barely more than a whisper.  
  
“Just promise me you’ll keep fighting, ya idjit.”  
  
“I promise.” Sam doesn’t think he’s lying, but at this point anything’s a possibility.  
  
“Well, if you think you can handle it, I got a job for you. Possible zombie attacks in Florida. You interested?”  
  
“Um, sure.”  
  
They don’t talk for long after that. Sam takes down the information about the case, and he’s pleased that his hand barely even shakes. After Bobby promises not to tell Dean where he is, and Sam promises that he won’t get himself arrested or killed, they hang up.  
  
Then it’s just him and Lucifer in the hotel room, and the first promise he made to Bobby is feeling more and more like a lie when Lucifer slips around in front of him and straddles Sam’s lap.  
  
“What do you say? Should we give last night an encore?” He grinds his hips in a way that leaves absolutely no doubt as to what he means.  
  
Sam shakes his head, not meeting Lucifer’s eyes.  
  
Lucifer’s voice goes deadly cold. “What’s that?”  
  
“No.” Sam pushes him off roughly and stands.  
  
“I really think you want to reconsider that, because I’ll—” He flickers out as Sam digs his thumb into the healing scar.  
  
Sam lets out a long breath. He’s going to pay for this later, that’s for sure, but at least he got out of this with his self-respect intact. He knows he has one thing in his arsenal that works. His new plan: ignore Lucifer and hopes he just fades away. After all, aren’t delusions supposed to grow stronger if you pay attention to them?  
  
He packs his bags. When he leaves the motel room, he’s still alone.


End file.
